


Harry Hidden

by PerfectionJune



Category: Series-RBC, The Rigel Black Chronicles - Fandom, The Rigel Black Chronicles-murkybluematter, murkybluematter - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectionJune/pseuds/PerfectionJune
Summary: She's very good at hide-and-go-seek
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: Rigel Black Chronicles Masquerade 2021





	Harry Hidden

_It is dark, and quiet, and Harry is hiding._

* * *

She can’t stop thinking about the pureblood in the mirror. When Pansy had launched her upon society, Rigel had expected to pull on some nicer robes and feel little different. She hadn’t been prepared to look at herself and see someone who looked _better_. There was nothing to support pureblood superiority, but when she looks at the refined mannerisms and careful looks of her peers, she can almost get pulled into the fantasy they spin. Even now, days later, when she looked in the mirror she felt subpar. Rigel wishes she’d run her hands through her hair that day, even if it had meant Pansy’s displeasure. Maybe then she would have seen some semblance of Harry in the mirror, maybe she’d feel like less of an imposter, less like—

“…Rigel?” She startles back to herself with a blink. Pansy is looking at her expectantly, and Rigel suppresses her embarrassment and schools herself into an open expression.

“Pardon?” Draco snorts, and cuts across Pansy’s attempt to speak somewhat impatiently.

“We were discussing our tutelage prior to Hogwarts. Honestly though,” he turns to Pansy, “we already know that Rigel was kept in a room with no windows and nothing but a cauldron.” The group titters politely, but Rigel still feels attention on her.

“My parents gave me a fairly well-rounded education–” She begins, when Greengrass lets out a sharp, scornful laugh. Rigel raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, _obviously_ ” Greengrass begins, a cruel moue to her mouth, “your father only saw fit to teach you as a muggle. How else could you explain–”

“–That’s enough” Pansy cuts across Greengrass’s explanation firmly. Rigel can see the discomfort in the shoulders of the first years around her. The questions in their eyes. Maybe she wasn’t raised like a muggle, but then why couldn’t she do magic?

_You’re right_ , she doesn’t say, _I don’t belong here_ , she doesn’t think. Instead, she shrugs guilelessly, and says “It’s a good thing I like potions.” The conversation shifts again, and Rigel breathes. They can’t tell the difference, so why should she worry about it?

* * *

_There’s no noise beyond her breathing and the quiet creaks which always echo through a building. Harry tries to focus on things other than her discomfort, but finds her attention pulled back to her nose (itchy from dust) and her knees (cramping in their scrunched-up position). The floor is hard wood against her side, even through the soft fur coat she found to wrap herself in. Harry knows that the small cupboard under the stairs where she is curled hasn’t been used in a long time. Dust coats the floor in all areas except those she walked through, and she can feel cobwebs brushing against her skin. She barely resists the urge to shudder as she imagines small spiders scurrying across the skin of her hands and neck. Her fingers begin to prickle–whether from the phantom arachnids or genuine pins and needles she cannot be sure– and Harry twitches her right thumb the barest amount to press the nail into her index finger. A burst of tingles awakens, and Harry’s urge to move in stronger than ever. But she resists. Hiding requires excellent self-control, and Harry is hiding._

* * *

_“It says a lot about your opinion of your friends.”_ Draco’s words echo through Rigel’s head hours later. She’s sitting in the common room ostensibly writing an extra potions paper for Professor Snape. She’s not written anything in the hour she’s been sitting there.

All around her is a barrier of empty space. She can feel people avoiding coming near her, doubt about how it would be perceived considering her bought with the Malfoy heir. Somehow, Rigel had never fully processed the amount of protection from her father’s status being friends with Draco afforded her. A pseudo-Malfoy still has status, but without the heir’s approval, _does he really_? She could practically hear the mental calculus those around her are completing. If Black heir is almost Malfoy, but Malfoy heir throws him into disgrace, is Black heir safe to approach?

It’s alright, though. She didn’t come here to make friends. It’s safer if she doesn’t. And if Draco never forgives her, then there’s little Rigel can do at this point. Besides, she’s good at being alone. She’s just out of practice.

* * *

_Somewhere in the distance, she can hear movement. Pots banging together and the quiet thrum of conversation. She thinks she can hear a woman’s voice (her mother’s?) raised in a bright laugh. As she listens, a subtle aroma begins to leak in with the scant amount of light allowed by the crack beneath the cupboard door, warm and delicious. Harry’s stomach clenches uncomfortably, and she longs to give in to the urge to stand and announce herself. Perhaps Archie’s given up, perhaps no one is looking for her anymore. There are two ways a period of hiding ends after all—either you are found, or you decide that no one is searching. Either way, all charades come to an end. The winner is determined by nothing more than patience. Patience keeps you hidden, and Harry is hiding._

* * *

“You’ve reduced the amount of moon dew in the recipe, why?” Her professor’s voice is sharp and curious, not reproving but unsure of her reasoning.

“I thought that by reducing the amount of moon dew I could add extra lavender to counteract the volatility of–”

“The separated bile, yes.” Snape’s voice filled with approval. Rigel is brewing a combination potion similar to the one she’d helped Percy write his essay on all those years ago. However, she is attempting to combine a sleeping draught with a pepper-up to produce a surplus of energy to help a patient heal while still forcing them to rest. She’s thrilled and finishes in no time at all. As she cleans her cauldron, a thought which has been bothering her prompts her to speak.

“Professor,” she begins cautiously, and Snape turns her way. “Do you think I’m rushing things by becoming your apprentice early?” Snape frowns.

“Do you wish to end our agreement?”

“No sir!” Rigel replies emphatically. “I only wonder how I will be perceived by the guild if I rush to take my mastery. If no one will take me seriously, or think I only got through on favoritism.” Snape looks at her for a long moment before replying.

“Perhaps some will,” he allows, “But you’ll soon put them in their place. Besides,” he offers her a slight smile, “What reason could you have to wait?”

* * *

_She’s been here so long that she’s almost lost track of why she’s hidden at all. There’s a strange limbo which one falls into when hiding, a sort of blank solitude that steals the breath away. Logically, Harry knows there’s a world beyond this small space where she has found refuge, but in her trance, the walls seem to close in around her. She almost feels claustrophobic—but that’s not right. No, instead she imagines herself cradled; swaddled in darkness, and held in the bosom of secrecy. She counts her shallow breaths and dreams of the potions she will make when free. Hiding brings safety, and Harry is hiding._

* * *

“You’re almost done with this competition.” Dom hands Rigel her tea, and she takes a small sip. “Have you thought about where ‘Harry’ will go this summer while you’re on tour?”

“I’ve applied to a couple of internships, but Archie is also thinking about vacationing with Hermione’s family. I suppose we’ll see.” She takes a sip. “This is quite good!” Dome smiles, pleased.

“Thank you, it’s been a labor of love.” Rigel hums. “Harry,” Dom begins, but Rigel lets him get no further.

“I’ve told you a _million_ times, it’s Rigel in this layer.” Dom snorts dismissively.

“Is it? Rigel is a fantasy. He’s not real, not out there, and certainly not in here.”

“Yes, he _is_.”

“Then is Harry real. They can’t both be.” And Rigel (Harry? No, _Rigel_ ) finds herself pausing. _When it comes down to it_ , she wonders, _Do I really know where Rigel ends and Harry begins_?

* * *

_How long has she been here? Hours? Weeks? Days? She cannot tell. The light outside the door has not shifted the entire time she’s been here, but considering she is indoors, this means little. Her knees hurt so very much, her right arm is completely numb, and she has done nothing but fight sneezes for the last several minutes. She is sure when she finally leaves, she will be unable to walk from how cramped her body is. Harry listens carefully but hears no one nearby. Cautiously, she begins to stretch out her left knee, nearly sobbing in relief from the slight pop as her leg returns to a more comfortable position. She points her toes ever so slightly—CRASH! The rapid thudding of footsteps and sudden, blinding light. There’s Archie, laughing and crowing “Found you! You’re it!” And then Harry’s laughing and filled with belonging, and Harry is found._


End file.
